My Landlady Had Different Plans - Part 3

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That first day at work, wearing my panties, stockings, and bra was the most nerve-wracking. I looked around at my colleagues, wondering if anyone noticed.

"Eep!" I squeaked as Janice, my boss, put a hand on my shoulder. Could she feel the bra strap??

"Sorry!" I said, hastily. "You just surprised me, that's all."

"You've seemed jumpy all day today. Is anything wrong?"

"Nope, nothing wrong. Nothing at all."

"Okay, good. I'm glad. How are you and Mrs. Johnson getting along?"

"Ah, good. Great, actually."

"What's going on?" Janice asked, suspicious.

"She's... ah..." I desperately tried to think of something to say to divert her line of questioning. "She's introduced me to her daughter," I finally got out.

"REALLY?" Janice said, eyes glittering. "Oh, how horrible! To be introduced to a millionaire's daughter. That must be so terrible for you," she said, laughing.

I looked down at the ground, face burning.

"Oh, hey, hey," Janice said, putting a comforting hand on my leg (shit! could she feel the tabs of the garter belt?). "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said, trying to keep my tears in check. "It's just..."

"It's just what?"

"Nothing," I said, putting on a brave face and gently moving her hand away from my leg.

I heard a knock on the door.

Shit! I was in bed, wearing my nightgown and masturbating with the hand towel.

"Paul?" Mrs. Johnson called from the other side of the door.

I frantically thrust the hand towel under the covers, pulled up my panties, and smoothed down the nightgown.

"Come in," I called out.

"Sorry to disturb you," Mrs. Johnson said.

"N-No problem, Mrs. Johnson," I said, gulping. She was wearing a gorgeous gold nightgown and a robe. I could see her breasts gently swaying under the sumptuous, silky folds and lace.

She sat down on the bed next to me, close so that our nightgowns were touching, and put her arms around me.

"I just wanted to check that everything was okay," she said, reaching out to hold my hand. "You seemed... distant, at dinner today."

"Oh... ah..."

"Paul, you know you can talk with me about anything, right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson."

She pulled me close and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

"So now, tell me, what is the problem?"

"At work," I started. "Well, I think that my boss may have been able to feel that I was wearing stockings. She placed a hand on my leg."

"She placed a hand on your leg?" Mrs. Johnson said, eyes arched.

"Uh, yeah."

"And now you're worried that this might become a problem at work?"

"I... I guess so."

What was I thinking, right at that moment? I guess I was hoping that, understanding my concerns at work, Mrs. Johnson would see my point of view and would return my male underwear for me to wear at work.

But it didn't turn out that way.

"I think I understand," Mrs. Johnson said. "You're worried that you'll be dismissed if it comes out that you're wearing women's underwear. Well, I think I know exactly how to fix that. I'll just call the museum director and let him know."

"Let him know??" I gasped, horrified.

"Why certainly! He's a good friend of mine. If I tell him you are wearing women's underwear as a special favor to me, then he can be on the lookout for any problems, and he can stop any negative situations before they grow out of control."

"But... but..." I sputtered.

"Would you rather that he hold a general meeting to explain the situation to the entire staff?"

"No!" I said, hastily. "No, ah... that's not necessary. No, ah, I -- really -- you don't need to do anything at all! Honestly, I'm sure it's nothing!"

"Nonsense, I want to make sure you feel comfortable at work. Okay, then, I'll just talk to the museum director for now. No general meeting."

I was now too scared to argue for fear it would get worse. I nodded.

"Excellent. I'm glad that's settled. Now, how do you like your nightgown?" she asked.

"It's nice," I said.

But my head was still spinning from the previous conversation. Did she really say that she was going to talk to my boss's boss to tell him I was wearing women's underwear?

"Oh, good, I'm so glad. Doesn't it just make you feel so feminine, to be wearing a nightgown?"

"Yes, it does," I had to admit.

"And the underwear, too. The straps and silk, and nylon don't feel so wonderful and feminine, too? Of course it does. Don't you just want to wear women's things forever?"

"I... I don't know."

"You don't know?" Mrs. Johnson repeated, with a light tease in her voice. "I think it's clear that you love wearing them."

She looked around.

"Where is the towel, Paul?"

"Th-the towel?"

"Yes, the white hand-towel which is usually on your nightstand?"

"I... I..."

Sheepishly, I reached under the covers and pulled it out. Mrs. Johnson took it from me, inspected it, and then folded it up and put it back on the nightstand, where it stood out, soft and stark white.

Mrs. Johnson pulled me into a hug from behind, her arms wrapped around me and her lips at my ear.

"I think, my dear, for all of your protestations, that deep down you know the truth - that you love wearing the panties, and bra, and stockings I've picked out for you, and the nightgown in the evenings. You may not be ready to admit it yet, but you will - I'm sure."

She put her hands on my chest and gently massaged it.

"Please, Mrs. Johnson," I squirmed, weakly trying to get away.

"I'm sorry, Paul," she said, releasing me. "Sometimes I just can't believe my luck that you ended up here. You're just so..."

She stopped there.

"So...?" I asked.

"Have you explored the closet yet?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Uh, no. I haven't," I said, suddenly worried.

"Oh, that's too bad. Is it because it's so full of clothes? Not sure where to begin?"

"No, that's not--"

"Here, let's go check it out."

Mrs. Johnson got up from the bed, pulling me with her, our nightgowns billowing out as we walked, and led me into the large, walk-in closet. As before, I was assaulted by feminine smells of clothing, perfume, baby powder, and mothballs.

"I can understand that it's intimidating. So many clothes! Oh, I know! I'll pick out something for you to wear first."

"Mrs. Johnson--"

"When you're ready," she said, as she rummaged through the dresses. "Here! Oh, this is perfect. It's a 1950s vintage house dress. Isn't it pretty?"

She held it up to show me.

The dress was cotton and made up of a pretty purple, white, and blue floral pattern. It had short sleeves, a wide cotton bow at the collar, a flared skirt, and a thin, white belt.

Instantly, I pictured myself wearing it, and then, just as quickly, I took a step back.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson, I don't think that I could... I mean, I'm just not..."

"Shush, shush, it's okay," Mrs. Johnson said soothingly. "Here, let's go back to bed, shall we?"

"Okay."

Back in the bedroom, she hung the dress on a hook on the outside of the closet door.

"Such a pretty dress, isn't it? So practical for working around the house, doing household chores, but still so ladylike. Don't you agree?"

We were back in bed, sitting side by side, her arm around my waist.

"Y-yes, Mrs. Johnson," I stammered, unable to take my eyes away from the dress. It was clearly visible from the bed.

"Now I know that you say that you don't want to wear it," said Mrs. Johnson, softly kissing my ear, her warm breath caressing my cheek. "But I look at your reaction, and I think that you do want to wear it. That you desperately want to wear it."

"N-no, Mrs. Johnson."

"Shush, it's okay, Paul. Just listen to me, okay? Here is what is going to happen, now listen very carefully."

She hugged me from behind and gently stroked my nipples with her fingers.

"At some point, you will want to touch the dress," she whispered into my ear, "but you must not touch it."

"No?"

"Definitely not. Because if you touch it, then you must put it on."

"Put it on?" I asked.

"That's right. You must put it on so you can feel it on your body, to feel its soft embrace. But you must not do that, do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because if you put it on, then you must come and show me. Do you understand? You have no choice in the matter. If you put on the dress, then you must come to show it to me. You must come to me and say 'Mrs. Johnson, I have put on the housedress.'"

"Mrs. Johnson, I have put on the housedress," I repeated, as if in a trance.

"Very good, that's my good girl," she purred. "And above all, that must never happen. You must never come to me, dressed in that dress, and say those words. Do you know why you must never, ever do that?"

"Please..."

"Here is why you must do that, because if you do, there will be no turning back."

An involuntary shiver ran through my body.

"No turning back?" I asked, almost pleading.

"No turning back."

"But what's that mean?" I was shaking.

But Mrs. Johnson said nothing and just gave me a warm smile.

"Now, Paul," she said, holding my hand in hers. "Let's just review, shall we? You must not touch the dress that's hanging there."

"Do not touch the dress," I repeated.

"That's right. Because if you do..."

"Then I must put it on."

"Correct. Remember that you have no choice in the matter."

"No choice..."

"None at all. If you touch the dress, then you must put it on. Oh, with some shoes too!"

"Shoes?" I asked, worried.

"Yes, some nice high-heeled pumps. Okay? So put on the dress and then the pumps."

"Put on the dress and the pumps..."

"Correct. Remember: You will have no choice. Once you touch the dress, you are committed. And then what comes next?"

"I have to come and show you."

"That's right. You have to come and show me your pretty new dress and heels. And you have to say...?"

"'Mrs. Johnson, I have put on the dress. The housedress.'"

"Very good. Now Paul, do you think you can do it?"

"Do what?"

"Not touch the dress. Do you think you can do that?"

"Of course," I said, momentarily shaking out of the trance I was in. "I don't need to go into the closet, why should I touch the dress?"

"Because," she said, with a knowing smile. "Just look at how lovely it is. Don't you want to touch it?"

"No, of course not."

"Are you sure? It's there, calling you, isn't it? It's saying: 'Paul, please touch me. Please put me on. Please, I want you to wear me.' Can't you hear it?"

"No..." I said, but with less certainty.

"Well, good. Then you shouldn't have any problem."

Mrs. Johnson picked up the hand towel and placed it gently, but firmly, into my upturned palm.

"Have a nice night," she said, kissing me lightly - right on the lips - before leaving the room and gently shutting the door behind her.

The next couple of days passed normally or as normal as any day can be when your landlady is picking out frilly undies for you to wear in the morning and a silky nightgown in the evening. In every other respect, my interactions with Mrs. Johnson were comfortable and easy. I began to think of the Johnson house as my home.

It was Wednesday evening, and I had retired early to read about local history when I heard a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Jessica?" I asked, looking around frantically. "No"

But there she was, already in the bedroom. Frantically, I pulled up the covers, trying to cover the fact that I was already dressed in my nightgown.

"Hey Paul, how are things?" Jessica said, smirking. "Are you dressed for bed already? But wait, it's not even nine o'clock!"

"I... they've given me a lot of reading to do, you know, at work? And so I've been getting to bed early and reading in bed," I tried to explain. "I'm usually awake past midnight," I added lamely, as if that would impress her.

"But look at you," Jessica snorted. "Are you already dressed in your nightgown?"

"I... No... ah... I..."

"Paul..." Jessica said with a note of warning.

"Yes," I admitted, letting the bedspread fall. I was wearing a shiny (polyester), cream-colored, below-the-knee nightgown with a lace trimmed deep-V neckline, and gorgeous embroidered cups.

The nightgown was new, picked out by Mrs. Johnson sometime during the day and waiting for me when I got home from work.

"Why are you already changed into your nightgown? I mean, you could study in your male clothes, or at the desk, or in the library..."

"I-I just thought I sh-should," I stammered.

"I'll tell you what I think," said Jessica, kicking her shoes off and crawling onto the bed next to me. "I think you saw that delicious nightgown, and you couldn't wait to put it on. I think you wanted to put it on."

"No..." I tried to protest.

"Ha. I think you and I both know the truth. Is that the dress?"

She pointed to the housedress hanging on the closet door.

"The dress?"

"The dress. You know, the one that Mom pulled out for you to wear."

"Ah, yes. But I'm not going to wear it."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really, really sure? Aren't you already thinking of putting it on? Haven't you already imagined touching it, threading your arms through the sleeves, and buttoning it up?"

"No, I haven't," I said, but I had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady myself.

"Hmmph. I bet. But it needs shoes! Why don't you go and pick out a nice pair of shoes to go with it?"

"Shoes?"

"Sure, go into the closet and find the right pair of shoes. A nice pair of pumps, I think. Maybe purple would match the dress. Now go! Quick, like a little bunny!"

I slipped out of the bed feeling self-conscious in my nightgown and walked over to the closet. Carefully, I opened the door without touching the dress hanging on it and entered the closet.

"These?" I asked, showing a pair.

"No, those are sandals. I think that pumps would go better for a 50s-style housewife like you're going to be when you put that dress on. You know, pumps, without a strap and a closed toe."

"I'm not putting the dress on," I called out from the closet. "These?" I asked.

"Perfect!" she said. "Now put them down, under the dress, and come back to bed."

But then, as I stooped over to put the shoes under the dress, disaster! The hem of the dress brushed against my cheek!

"What's the matter, Paul?"

"Nothing!" I called out, standing up, and walking back to the bed.

"Are you sure? You seemed to stop, all of a sudden. Did you touch the dress?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because you know... if you did..."

"I didn't. I swear. Why are you here, Jessica?" I finally asked, exasperated. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm just here to torture you," she said, laughing. "No, seriously, I was dropping some books off for Mom, and she told me all about your dress, and I had to come see for myself. I think it needs a slip."

"A slip?"

"Yes, a slip. So, promise me, before you put on the dress and hush, we both know that it's inevitable - before you put on the dress, put on a nice full slip. Okay?"

"But why?"

"Because I told you to," she said simply. "Now promise."

"No," I said defiantly.

"I'm not leaving until you do. I don't have to go to work tomorrow."

"Fine," I said, finally. "If I put on the dress, which I won't! If I put on the dress, then I will put on a slip first. Happy?"

"Very!" she said brightly. "But we both know you will," she added, giving me a light kiss on the cheek before bouncing out of bed and leaving me alone.

Jessica was gone, I lay there staring with one eye at the dress that was hung up on the closet.

'You touched me,' said the dress in my mind. 'You touched me. You know you did. Now you have to put on a slip, and then me, and then the shoes, and go show Mrs. Johnson.'

"No..." I moaned, turning onto my stomach and pushing my face into the pillow.

'You know you have to,' said the dress. 'And what's more, you know you want to. Don't deny it. We both know the truth.

You want nothing more than to slip me on and to submit to the Johnson women. Isn't that true? To become a housewife for Mrs. Johnson and her daughter, you know that's what you really want. You're already doing everything they're telling you to do. All that's really left is to put me on, and officially place yourself under their control.'

"No, I won't," I cried into the pillow. "Stop torturing me!"

'Who's torturing who?' said the dress. 'This is just one part of your mind trying to convince the other part of your mind about what you really want.

So why not just give in? Imagine what will happen when you do! Just imagine what sorts of delicious, personal, intimate, feminine tasks Mrs. Johnson will make you do? Will demand that you do? Just think about all of the dresses, and skirts, and blouses, and lingerie, and costumes, all of my sisters just waiting and eager for you to put them on!'

"No!" I gasped, reaching for the hand-towel.

I only lasted two more days. My evenings were tormented by the dress hanging on the closet door. I had long, elaborate debates with it, trying to explain why I could never put it on.

And every time, I lost.

On Friday, Mrs. Johnson had a charity function to attend, and so I was left in the house, alone, all evening.

It was like I was in a trance. I heated some leftovers for a small dinner, put on a frilly apron, and then did the dishes. I went as if to watch TV, but instead found myself ascending the stairs to my bedroom.

My mind was blank with no coherent thoughts. But my body was tingling and I couldn't seem to catch my breath.

It seemed right that I should be clean, smooth, and beautiful, and so I showered, shaved (all over), and moisturized.

Back in the bedroom, pink and naked, I put on the underwear that Mrs. Johnson had chosen for me that morning.

They were frilly and definitely vintage. Had she chosen these because I would be wearing a vintage house dress? I fingered the lace in the bra, amazed at how fine and soft it was. The panties gathered around my waist and legs, and looked excessively feminine.

Oh god, I was hard already.

Jessica had demanded that I wear a slip, and so I in the dresser drawers and found one that seemed similarly vintage. A gorgeous beige slip with a wide row of lace around the neckline.

"Ohhhh..." I sighed, as the smooth nylon slipped over my body and tickled the tops of my legs.

I held on to the dresser and took a few deep breaths, just taking my time and letting the feelings flow through me. I looked up at the dress.

'It's time,' I imagined that it said to me.

Slowly, I walked over to it and took it off the hanger.

"No going back now," I whispered to myself, holding the dress in my hands. The cotton felt stiffer than I had expected. I inspected it carefully, the buttons down the front, the flower pattern, the thin white leather belt, and the intricate collar made of small, sewn squares of fabric and gathered like a bow.

I undid the tab and the buttons down the front and opened it up.

"Wait..." I said out loud.

I stopped.

"You don't have to do this..." I told myself.

'It's time,' the dress said to me. 'Time to put me on. Time to admit who you really are.'

"What had Jessica told me?" I tried to remember.

I thought back to our conversations.

"It's time I taught you a lesson," she had said that first time in my bedroom together. "Unless you develop a backbone, you're going to end up under her thumb just like my Dad. Is that what you want?"

What had she meant by that? Is this what she had meant?

"I'm telling you, there's an obvious answer," Jessica had said.

But what was the obvious answer?

"There's an easy solution," she had said.

Finally, it came to me.

"The solution is to just not do it," I finally realized. "Just stop doing everything. Don't put on the dress. Stop wearing the bra and stockings. Stop wearing the panties and just get some regular male underwear."

I stood there, stunned. The house dress was in my hands, open and waiting.

What was I going to do?

I ran my hands over my body, feeling the sumptuous fabric of the slip with the bra and panties underneath.

All I had to do was put this dress back on the hanger, and put it back in the closet, I realized. The answer was so simple. In my heart, I knew that if I did that, everything would go away. Mrs. Johnson would become just my nice, friendly landlady, and Jessica would become just an occasional visitor.

And then I would finish my internship and head home.

'Or you could put me on,' said the dress in my mind. 'Put me on, then wait for Mrs. Johnson to come home and show her that you're wearing dresses now.'

But then what happens? I fretted.

'Behind this door is a whole closetful of delicious possibilities.'

I stood there, frozen, unable to make up my mind, warring thoughts racing through my brain, pushing me close to panic.

'Play with your nipples,' said the dress.

"But..."

My free hand, as if under remote control, slowly drifted up to my chest and gently tweaked my nipples through the slip and bra.

"No..." I moaned, closing my eyes, the storm in my head settling down and clearing. "That's nice," I whispered out loud.

I stood like that for another few minutes, stroking and caressing my chest.

And then my hand stopped. I opened my eyes, and watched in horror as it slowly found its way to the open, waiting sleeve of the housedress.

"Stop!" I cried.

'Hush,' said the dress. 'You know you want to.'

I felt tingling and goose bumps spring up as I threaded my arm into the sleeve.

'That's my good girl,' said the dress.

Feeling lost, I slipped the other arm into the dress and pulled it around me.

'Now for the buttons,' the dress continued. 'There are ten of them. Once they are all firmly fastened, you must promise that you will leave me on until Mrs. Johnson tells you otherwise. Do you promise?'

"I promise," I said, with a shudder.

'Cross your heart and hope to die?'

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I said, signing a cross over my heart.

'Very good. Let's start at the bottom. Button number one. Paul admits that he loves wearing women's clothing.'

I buttoned the first button at the bottom of the dress. "I love wearing women's clothing," I repeated, realizing that it was so true.

'Button number two. Paul admits that he loves feeling girly and feminine.'

I found and fastened the second button. "I love feeling girly and feminine," I sighed.

'Number three. Paul wants to explore everything that the closet has to offer.'

I gasped. Dare I admit that? I took a minute to build my confidence.

"I want to explore everything that the closet has to offer," I repeated, giving in.

'Four. Paul is falling in love with Mrs. Johnson and her daughter, Jessica.'

"I am falling in love with the Johnson family."

The realization made my heart palpitate.

I thought about my own family. My wonderful but harried mother, my father working two jobs, my three brothers (two older, one younger), and my lonely older sister. Being child #4 of 5 meant always being on the margins.

But not here. Being with Mrs. Johnson meant always being the center of attention.

Like a member of the family.

'Five. Paul admits that he is submissive by nature.'

I thought back to all of my prior dating with girls. Stammered requests for dates, awkward silences, trying to make small talk, feeling their disappointment when I didn't take the initiative.

But there was no such problem with Mrs. Johnson and Jessica. They were both so strong and confident that I just naturally fell under their spell.

"I admit that I am submissive by nature."

'Six.'

I buttoned up the sixth button, pulling the fabric together around my hips. As I worked up from the bottom, the dress got narrower and narrower, which meant that it gradually enclosed my body into an increasingly intimate grasp.

'Paul admits he wants to submit to Mrs. Johnson and do whatever she tells him to do.'

I squirmed. This was making me horny and tingly.

"I admit that I want to submit to Mrs. Johnson, and do whatever she tells me to do."

'Button seven. Paul admits he wants to submit to Jessica, and do whatever she tells him to do,' said the dress.

I had been doing this all along anyway, I realized. Had it always been obvious to her that I was submissive and wanted to be dominated?

This button was right at my waist, the narrowest part of the dress. I pulled it in and buttoned it, feeling its demanding embrace.

"I want to submit to Jessica, and do whatever she tells me to do," I repeated.

'Eight,' the dress continued. 'Paul admits that he wants to wear women's clothing forever.'

I gulped as I buttoned the button just at my chest, pulling the fabric tight around my torso. This was feeling so final. So, absolute. Trapped.

"I admit that I want to wear women's clothing... forever."

I felt a tear run down my cheek.

'Just two more buttons now. Button nine. Paul admits that wearing a housedress makes him want to be a housewife.'

I looked down at what I was wearing as I buttoned up the 9th button (the button at my chest). I was the very image of a '50s housewife with my demure housedress and matching purple heels. Mrs. Johnson was already teaching me how to cook. I was already hand-washing my lingerie.

Does this mean I might be asked to do more cooking and cleaning? I thought to myself. Dressed like this?

The thought makes me tremble.

"I admit that wearing a housedress makes me want to be a housewife," I said.

'Excellent. And now for the last button. Walk over to the mirror.'

I walked over to the antique standing mirror in the corner of the room. I looked at myself in the purple and blue flower housedress, shoes and stockings. I looked terrified.

'Paul admits that he has changed. Paul is no longer the same person as when he first set foot in this house. Paul admits that he needs a new name. A name which is his secret name, for now, which he will only share with Mrs. Johnson and Jessica.'

I took a deep breath and did up the top button, crossed the two ends of the collar, and fastened them with the tab at the top.

"I admit that I have changed."

I shook and hugged myself, aware that I would now have to go downstairs and greet Mrs. Johnson when she came home. I had made my choice. I was committed.

"I admit that I am no longer the same person as when I first set foot in this house."

I would show Mrs. Johnson that I had decided to put on the housedress. And then I was certain Mrs. Johnson would tell Jessica. They would both know that I had changed.

"I admit that I need a new name."

I was certain that Mrs. Johnson would quiz me as to why I had put on the dress. What would I tell her? Would I have to admit that I enjoyed dressing up? Would I have to admit that I wanted to be a housewife?

I looked in the mirror. From somewhere deep inside of me, I knew exactly what to say.

"My name is Melissa," I said to the image in the mirror.